


Let Me

by altilis



Series: Building Bridges [2]
Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Bathing/Washing, Community: hc_bingo, Community: kink_bingo, Gen, Master/Servant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-03
Updated: 2011-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-21 00:06:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altilis/pseuds/altilis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Thor takes care of Loki after he's taken the brunt of his punishment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me

Thor carries his brother over his shoulders with ease. After the demonstration in court, forced to whip Loki and then to take his freedom, his body is much lighter than the guilt weighing on Thor's mind. If he wasn't as battle-hardened to blood or indifferent to eyes of the Asgardian gentry, he might have felt sick—but what good would that do for Loki now?

He passes by two attendants on the way into the bathing rooms adjacent to the Healing Room proper. "I need a chair," he announced to them, his booming voice echoing off the walls, "a cleansing solution on tap, and a strong salve." The attendants nod, and walk off for the medical storage, while Thor walks down into one of the empty pools. The walls and the floor still glisten with water, so Thor is careful as he slides Loki off his shoulders back onto his own feet.

Loki curses as he moves and grips hard at Thor's shoulders to steady himself. He never meets Thor's gaze, and Thor's reluctant to give him the chance, just focusing on keeping him up until the attendant comes back with the chair. Letting Loki lean on one arm, Thor takes the chair with the other—"And a drink, please."—and sets it right next to the drain. Loki sinks down into the chair, sitting backwards with his arms folded across the back of it. The wounds on his back still bleed, and Thor still can't believe that they are there from his hand.

The other attendant returns carrying a tray with a pitcher, a short tub of salve, and towels. Thor nods to her. "Could you arrange for the tailor to bring some...appropriate clothes for my brother?" he asks, realizing midway that Loki's not going to have access to his old wardrobe. His chambers are sealed off by magic that only Loki can—or could—break.

She courtesies and leaves, and the other attendant returns with a goblet of mead, hands it to Thor, and bows before he leaves. Thor holds it out for Loki to take. "Here, brother."

Loki lifts his head off his arms, stares at the goblet for a moment, and then takes it with one hand. He sips tentatively while Thor goes to the tray, taking the pitcher and filling it at the faucets with a turquoise solution.

"What should I call you now?" Loki asks. "Your Highness? My Lord? _Master_?"

The mead seems to have coaxed his voice back, which is more comforting than his pained silence, even if he tries to wound Thor with his words. It's a welcome return to the norm after what's happened. "You may call me what you have in the past, brother," Thor answers, walking back to the chair with the full pitcher.

"No." Loki tightens both hands around the goblet. "I cannot call you that, not after—ah—!" His back arches and his hands shake as Thor pours the thick solution across his back. It soaks into the wounds, washes away the blood, splashes down to the floor, and, apparently, hurts a great deal. Thor knows that well enough from his own experiences, and he also knows his brother will heal faster because of it.

"And I cannot allow you to call me any of those other titles," Thor says, continuing to pour as Loki heaves shallow breaths and threatens to crush the goblet in his hand. "You are still my brother, Loki, and I would hope you could consider me the same."

"Very well, Thor." Loki spits the name, and while Thor steps back to refill the pitcher, he takes another drink. It's a start, Thor thinks as he watches Loki's lips form around the lip of the goblet, the way his throat bobs as he swallows. The distraction almost causes him to overfill the pitcher; he stops just in time and returns to Loki.

Silence falls between them as Thor works. After another wash or so Loki doesn't writhe as much, but there's still a graceful arch to his back—a strange, artistic beauty that's marred by the lashes. Thor doesn't know why he's noticing it now of all times, when his foremost duty is to _help_ Loki. Maybe he's looking for distraction. Maybe he's looking for some good that still remains after what has transpired between them.

After several more rinses, Thor pats the skin dry with the soft ivory towels from the tray. Loki brings the goblet back to his lips but doesn't drink, as if waiting for something, and only sips when Thor sets aside the towels aside and grabs the salve. This should feel warmer and not quite as painful, though Loki tenses at first touch and rests his head against his outstretched arm.

"So, I assume I won't be returning to the dungeons?" Loki asks, much in the same way he would when confirming lunch or any other appointment. Thor wonders if the nonchalance is his way of coping or outright denial.

"Most likely not," Thor answers, spreading the salve over Loki's shoulders and under the silver collar at his neck. Loki relaxes, if only a little. "And your chambers—"

"Are sealed to my magic."

"I know." Thor did check while Loki rested; he nearly burned his hand against the door. "Which leaves you the rest of the palace to make your residence."

"Most of which is unsafe in my condition," Loki grumbles. Thor's hand massages salve over his left shoulder blade.

"Except for my rooms."

"Oh, so you would be my master in everything but name, then?" Loki sneers, and Thor tries to think of it as a good thing, still: he is well enough to articulate his bitterness. "Have me sleep on a pallet by your bed, always under your watch? Is that why Father's done this, to ensure I don't have a moment's privacy for myself?"

"Why do you keep insisting—"

" _Look_ at these bands, Thor." Loki holds up one hand, and the light glints off the metal at his wrist. "Look at this...collar he's given me, like a hound. Fenrir is treated better than this. I—we—cannot pretend that I am a prince, or your brother, or even pretentious enough to be your friend. We're too old for those games."

Thor's hands rub over Loki's. "You always seemed to enjoy them."

"Yes, well, look where I am because of it." Loki's attitude seems to deflate with that. He rests his arm against the chair back, letting it dangle, and he says nothing more. Thor frowns, not meaning to put Loki in a worse mood (though it does seem inevitable, now).

He stops spreading the salve over Loki's back for a moment, stepping around to offer the salve to him. "For your lips," he says, and Loki stares up at him for a long moment before swiping some on the tip of his finger. Thor returns to his previous work before he can see Loki spread it on his lips from one corner of his deceitful mouth to the other, or suck off the honey-sweet excess from his fingertip.

But he can still hear it, that soft sound of Loki's mouth.

Thor has nearly finished Loki's back when one of the attendants return, this time carrying a bundle of clothes in her arms. "My Lord, the tailor has fashioned these from his h—from Loki's most recent measurements," she says, setting the clothes on a bench against the wall. Loki tenses again. "He hopes they will suffice for your purposes."

"They will, thank you," Thor says, and the attendant nods and leaves them alone again. Loki doesn't relax again, and he shifts uncomfortably as Thor's hands press into his lower back.

"Will all my decisions and information be deferred to you, now?" Loki asks, sullen.

"Loki." Thor screws the lid back on to the jar. "What did you expect her to do? You cannot tell me you are a slave and that I should treat you as such, and also expect everyone to regard you as their king. Now, can you stand?"

After tossing the empty goblet to the side where it clatters against the pool wall, Loki pushes himself up to stand, using the chair as a support. He's slow but steady. "Well enough," he mutters. Thor offers his hand, and Loki takes it in what looks like a tight grip—but it feels weak against Thor's hand, like a child's grip. Thor's heart clenches—what have they done to his brother? What has he done?

He helps Loki climb the steps out of the pool to the long bench against the wall where his new clothes are. They both stare at them for a moment—a plain ivory shirt that looks like a burlap sack and a set of brown trousers—before Loki starts to pull at the fastenings of his trousers with one hand. His hand shakes and his balance is less than perfect. Thor decides that this isn't the best approach to the problem.

"Sit," he orders—no, suggests—and Loki looks at him before taking a seat at the edge of the bench. When Thor reaches down to pull at the fastenings with both hands, Loki jerks back, eyes wide.

"What are you doing?"

"Helping you out of your clothing," Thor answers, not pausing. When the trousers are loose, he kneels down to slide off Loki's boots, one hand cupped under his knee and the other around the heel, sliding it off. After setting it aside, he hazards a glance back up to Loki, who stares back without a word. Perhaps if anyone had seen them, they would have guessed Loki manipulated him to this, kneeling before his own disgraced brother, but they wouldn't realize that in fact Loki is the one that yields, here. He yields his pride and his biting words and lets Thor do this for him.

He slides off the other boot and Loki's trousers, which leaves Loki nude for a short time; Thor pretends not to see him shiver. Loki moves and shifts appropriately (and winces, too) as Thor helps him pull the new trousers on and slides Loki's boots back on, but he pauses when he takes the shirt in his hands. It feels rough. "Perhaps the shirt can be saved for later?" he says, looking back at Loki.

"Yes, that would be much appreciated." Loki still takes the shirt to hold over his own arm before pushing himself up to stand. The brown doesn't complement him, not like green or black or silver. "Lead on," he urges Thor, with a sweep of his arm towards the gilded gold doors.

They walk to Thor's chambers without conversation, Loki clutching Thor's elbow; his stamina still hasn't recovered, it seems, and occasionally he stumbles into Thor's shoulder as they walk. Thor doesn't mind, just slows his pace and steadies his brother when he anticipates it. In the hallway by the entrance to Thor's chambers, they see a group of engineers standing around with glowing tools, working around chalk outlines on the wall.

One of the engineers, a young woman in a heavy burgundy apron with tools hanging at her belt, catches sight of them and rushes to greet Thor (with only an uncertain glance at Loki, which annoys Thor more than this unscheduled work). "My Lord, we received orders from the All-father to expand your accommodations for—uh—recent circumstances." She glanced again at Loki, quick and nervous, before focusing on Thor again. "We should be done by evening."

"Will I hear your work while inside?" Thor asks.

"No, not at—"

"Good." Thor walks around her to push open the door into his room. Loki, as surprised as the woman, stumbles after him. The door shuts by itself behind them.

"You can rest here for now," Thor says, leading Loki past the sitting room and into the bedroom. A great oak bed with carved posts and a heap of furs takes up most of the space, and the curtains are thrown back on a large window that surveys eastern Asgard. "I can grab some lunch from the hall—"

"Thor." Loki no longer stands at his side. Thor turns to see his brother stopped in the doorway, hand braced against the doorway and eyes staring at him with...uncertainty? Fear? "Why do you do this?"

"You are still my brother, Loki, and I cannot let you suffer n—"

"Enough with your platitudes!" Loki yells, and his hands curl into fists while his whole body trembles with anger and exhaustion. "Tell me what you want and spare me the humiliation of your corrections. You'll not have that entertainment out of me."

Thor knows he could say anything here, including nothing at all, and even the worst of Loki's frustration wouldn't be able to hurt him.

However, this isn't the time to leave his brother guessing.

He steps up to Loki and takes his clenched fist off the doorframe with one hand, gently takes his elbow in the other. Loki glances from one grip to the other and then up to Thor's face. "For the time being, I want you to rest, heal, eat. I want to take care of you, brother, and I want you to allow me."

Loki's shoulders sag. "And what about later?"

"When that time comes, I'll decide." Thor laughs. "You know I do not plan for things, Loki. Not like you."

He walks with Loki to the bed, and they sit together. Thor watches (and helps) Loki find a comfortable position on his stomach amongst the furs. He still has that graceful arch to his back that Thor tries and fails to ignore.

"Ah, look," Loki stops his shifting and grabs the shirt he had set aside. He smooths a patch of fabric along the sleeve and looks at Thor, who leans closer to see some colored stitching—and he frowns.

"It's a hammer."

"It's _Mjölnir_ , idiot." Loki shoves the shirt away before folding his arms and pillowing his head on them. "Even if you do not expect me to serve you, Asgard does. As if the collar wasn't obvious enough." He turns his head away from Thor so all he can see is ruffled black hair and a glimpse of silver around a pale neck.

Thor sighs. "I will get some lunch for us," he announces, standing, and when Loki doesn't protest, he walks out. Hopefully Loki will still be there when he returns, though where else could he go?

**Author's Note:**

> Also at [Dreamwidth](http://altilis.dreamwidth.org/24303.html).


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